It's a Funny Story Actually
by Nazmuko
Summary: It's Friday evening in DC and Jack is drinking beer alone in a bar, feeling miserable, when a surprise visitor changes his plans for the weekend. A light, silly, dialogue-driven story set between seasons 8 and 9. Sam/Jack as usual. Should have 5 chapters eventually.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and settings are property of their lawful owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.

**Spoilers: **Threads (S08E18), general knowledge of seasons 1-8 required.

**Timeline:** This story takes place between seasons 8 and 9.

**Genres:** Romance, Humor

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Sam/Jack

**A/N:** I used to write stories like this one when I first started. Funny, light, angst-free and dialogue-driven. Also a bit on the shallow side and perhaps a little OOC but hopefully entertaining. I hope you enjoy it. At the moment it looks like this story will have 4 chapters and _maybe_ an epilogue. I've written 3.5 chapters already, just missing the scene that wraps it up nicely into some level of happy ending. I'm hoping to update daily but please don't consider that a promise.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

Jack O'Neill has been sitting in the bar for way too long, downing too many beers in the process. There's a woman, a blonde, who's obviously interested in him and he thinks that if he drinks one or two more, he might just say yes to her because he's feeling lonely tonight.

Life in DC hasn't been what he imagined it to be. First of all, he's too busy to have a life outside Pentagon and second, well, he's too much of a _coward_ to have a life outside the Pentagon. He misses seeing his friends every day, he doesn't quite know how to move from that to getting new friends.

Daniel calls every week at the same time, he probably has a reminder in his calendar. Teal'c has called a couple of times as well but it's almost impossible to read the guy without seeing his eyebrows because he was never a big fan of words. He can't remember the last time he spoke with Carter because they only have official phone calls with each other. It can't have been longer than a couple of weeks but it feels like forever. Days without Carter always feel longer than days without Daniel, he's just drunk enough to admit that now. He wonders if that has something to do with the relativity of time. He should ask Carter the next time he sees her.

The lady in the too short black dress keeps moving towards him, one barstool at a time whenever there's free space, and now there's only one guy sitting between them. Soon he'll have to say or do something about that. Which one's worse, falling asleep miserable or waking up miserable? Because going home alone means the first one and leaving with her leads to the second one.

Maybe he should just walk to her and suggest a quickie in the ladies' room. That way he would both fall asleep _and_ wake up miserable. Two negatives make a positive, right? His knees would kill him, though, but the risk analysis he's running in his head suggests that it would still be worth it. But it's possible that the math is drunk, too.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, wondering what he should do. _A sign would be nice,_ he thinks. When he opens his eyes, the bartender is looking at him, a weird expression on his face, and Jack shakes his head at him. It doesn't matter if he meant _maybe you should go home_ or _would you like another drink? _because the answer is the same.

The buzzing in his pocket makes him jump and he quickly pulls the cell phone out. He's not sure if he should laugh or cry when he sees the ID because that's a sign if he ever needed one. He wants to say something to the nameless woman, apologize for leading her on, but "I hope you get laid but I'm not your man" sounds bit too harsh even to his ears so he decides to take the more indirect approach.

He takes a deep breath and answers the phone with a "Hey, Honey." The nameless woman flinches a little but obviously decides that it could be a misunderstanding.

"_Sir?"_ another blond woman, this one on the other end of the line, says.

"Yes, I did. I'll be home soon," he says and the woman next to him seems a bit discouraged already.

"_Is everything alright, sir?"_

"Really? She didn't have fever when I dropped her off at the nanny," he says and puts some money on the counter. The bartender nods his approval and he gets up. "Gimme a moment, I need to get out so I can hear you."

"_What's going on, sir?"_

He storms out the door and heads around the corner towards his apartment."You are an angel, Carter. You know that, right?"

"_What just happened, sir?"_

"Sorry about that. I was having a beer and a lady was starting to get bit too friendly. I was trying to figure out how to let her down gently." Or what exact words he should use while suggesting a quickie in the bathroom but he leaves out that part. She doesn't need to know. God, he wishes _he_ didn't know.

"_Oh,"_ she sighs and he can't quite understand that tone.

"Was there a reason why you called? Other than to save my ass?"

"_What? Oh. Yes, there was. But it doesn't really matter. I didn't realize you'd be out."_

"Well I'm walking home now."

"_Walking?"_

"Had a couple too many to drive. I'll get the car later. What was it? Everyone OK?"

"_Yes, of course. I just... Never mind, sir."_

"Carter." He puts a hint of command in his voice. It could go either way. One option is that she opens up, a reflex of a kind, an automated reaction to his command. Or it could make her clam up if this is something personal. But he can't remember the last time Carter called because of something personal.

"_I'm in DC,"_ she blurts out. No _sir_ at the end, no carefully constructed sentence, nothing but the truth. He likes that.

"DC is a big place," he says instead of asking why. He's not sure if he wants to know why. A lot of complicated things can follow the question _why_.

"_There's a phone booth across the street from your apartment."_

"You're standing in a phone booth, talking in your cell?" He knows he's avoiding the _why_ once again but for some reason he's amused about the thought of his ex 2IC standing in the tiny booth, talking to her cell. He wonders if there's a queue outside and what would she do if there was.

"_It's windy,"_ she says like it would explain everything. And then he notices for the first time that yes, it really _is_ windy. His leather jacket blocks the chill from reaching his upper body but there's that funny sensation on his thighs when the topmost layer of skin is starting to go numb from the cold.

"That it is," he replies. It's lame and he knows that but he's still not sure if he wants to get to the _why_s of all this. And there's still the alcohol, coursing through his body, making him numb and warm and fearless at the same time. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"_It's alright, sir. This was probably a bad idea. I should just go. I don't know what I was thinking."_

"What was a bad idea?" he finally asks because maybe, just maybe, he needs to know the whys as well.

"_Coming here," _she replies simply.

He can see the corner of the street already, the last turn, and he speeds his steps a little. He can see her now, squished into the tiny phone booth with a full duffel and something else. He hangs up and watches how she flinches and then lowers the phone to stare at the screen, wondering if he really hung up on her.

She jumps when he knocks on the glass, then raises her hand to her chest like a heart attack was a real threat. She shakes her head and then smiles at him and finally opens the door but doesn't fully step outside yet.

"I brought beer," she says and lifts the six-pack from where it was resting on the little shelf.

"Oh, you don't need to bribe me, Carter. Seeing you is enough."

When her face goes blank, he realizes his walls are not up as high as they should be and she can probably see a lot more than he wants her to know.

"Sorry, Carter," he apologizes and steps away from the door so that she can get out. "What brings you here? With or without beer."

"You see, it's a funny story actually..."

"Carter," he says firmly and she flinches.

"Sir?"

"That the universal code for _I'm going to lie to you but I hope you don't call me on it._"

"Yes, sir," she admits with a little smile.

"So, you wanna tell the real reason or should we just ignore it and move on?" He would be perfectly fine with it if that's what she wants. Hell, he'd be perfectly fine with _anything_ as long as it means she'll stay a little longer because she's a sight for sore eyes.

She looks serious for a moment, a little line forming on her forehead when she thinks hard what to reply. "I wanted to see you," she finally admits.

"And how much of this trip it explains?" Did she get from downtown to this neighborhood because of him? Or did she get into some conference here to have an excuse?

"All of it," she says and he gets the idea that she's being more honest than she's ever been before, at least with him. "I booked a flight simply because I wanted to see you. I _did_ practice a nice list of excuses, though."

"No need for those. And you didn't inform me of this why?"

"Because I figured that with my luck I'd either have to cancel because of work emergency or just plain run out of courage, sir."

"You were doing a fine job with dropping the sir for a moment there, Carter. You should try keeping that up."

"Sam," she says and it's his turn to look at her with a blank look. "If you're not sir, then I'm not Carter."

"Right, I'll work on that. Wanna come inside?"

She adjusts the duffel on her shoulder and for the first time he realizes that she came _here_. She came directly to his place.

"I really _was_ going to get into a hotel," she says quickly like he was accusing her of something but he can't figure out what that would be. "But there's some conference here, several actually, and the first three hotels I tried were full so I just decided to come here. I figured I could call some places and ask instead of driving around in a taxi. Or maybe even crash on your couch if it's not too much to ask."

It's eleven in the evening, he realizes when he glances at his watch.

"Come on," he says and grabs a hold of her elbow, gently guiding her towards the right door.

* * *

"You want a beer?" Carter asks when she lowers the case on the kitchen counter.

"No thanks. I think I've had a few too many as it is. The last few haven't even kicked in yet. But why don't you help yourself. There are cold ones in the fridge. I really need to, you know." He points over his shoulder towards the bathroom because he can really feel the first few beers of the evening wanting out already.

Carter smiles and nods. She looks a little awkward but not too much so and he's almost certain she won't run while he empties his bladder.

When Jack comes back to the kitchen, he takes a new paper cup from the cupboard and once again promises that he'll find the glasses and coffee cups _tomorrow_. "So, why are you here?" he asks as he pours some orange juice for himself. Sam is leaning against the counter, sipping her beer, playing with the corner of the label.

"I wanted to see you," she repeats and lifts her eyes to meet his but only for long enough to flash him a little smile.

"And why is that?"

She shrugs and lowers the bottle on the counter. She puts her hands on either side of herself, on the edge of the counter, and he gets the impression that she's preparing to open up because she's not hiding behind her drink anymore.

"I felt like we had... unfinished businesses."

He nods.

It's his fault more than hers. She had just lost her father and called off her wedding. He was not going to push her into anything, not even talking. He figured there'd be a right time for that in the future. But then when he got here and got stuck in the numbing routine of dealing with idiotic politicians, drinking beer alone and never having enough time for sleep, he figured it was probably better that they didn't have that conversation. She would find someone better, someone who would make her happy.

"How's life?" he asks because he really doesn't know how to start a conversation about those unfinished businesses, he's a little too drunk for it anyway.

"Good," she says with a nod. "Bit boring, a little lonely. But in a way, good. You?"

"Very boring and very lonely but not bad. Except the part where I deal with idiots for a living. Hey, think you could steal me a zat? It would make the budget negotiations go a lot smoother."

"Zat everyone who disagrees with you?"

"Basically, yeah. Or just zat myself in case there's not a single reasonable person in the group."

She just smiles and he suddenly feels very silly standing there in his kitchen, sipping his orange juice.

"I have a couch, you know," he says out of the blue like he just remembered the fact.

"There are boxes on it, sir."

He decides not to call her on the slip of a tongue. "Right. There are. There are boxes everywhere. You know, this is actually the first free weekend I've had since I got here. I'm always required in some fancy parties where I have to smile and play nice with all the important people."

"And then I come here," she says, looking very guilty.

"Oh, trust me. I have no objections to smiling and playing nice with you, Carter."

"Sam," she corrects.

"Sam," he repeats and her smile widens a little.

"Are there _any_ soft spots in this apartment that aren't covered with boxes?"

"My bed," he says and her eyebrows rise towards her hairline and he replays the words in his head a couple of times. "But that is not really an acceptable option," he continues when he realizes what he said. He's blaming the warmth on his cheeks on the alcohol because he's a grown man, dammit, and he does _not_ blush.

"Oh, I don't know. It might be our only option, sir."

"Jack," he corrects this time because she hasn't actually said it out loud and for some reason he's desperate to hear his name leave her lips.

"Jack," she repeats and he can feel his face twisting into a ridiculous grin without his consent. Damn, he shouldn't have had that last beer. Or the one before that.

Carter chuckles and takes a long draw from her beer before she sets it down and pushes herself off the counter. "I think you should go to sleep."

"I probably should," he admits. "But I really don't want to."

"I'll be here in the morning."

"Promise?" he asks and he has the distinct idea that he sounds and looks a bit too much like a puppy.

"Promise," she nods.

"Good. We can talk in the morning. Let's clean up the couch so you'll have a place to sleep. I have a guest room but it looks a lot worse than the couch at the moment."

"I can do that. Move the boxes. I won't sleep for a while anyway. I slept in the plane."

"You? Slept in a commercial plane?" Missions are one thing. On a long, hard mission, you sleep whenever you get a chance, even if it's only for a brief moment. But a commercial plane? That sounds just plain impossible.

"Well I didn't," she admits. "I was nervous and drank too much coffee."

"See? We're pretty good at this honesty thing. We should try it more often."

"We'll see how you feel about that when the alcohol fades," she says with a smile that seems a bit too patronizing for his liking.

"Goodnight, Sam," he says instead of arguing.

"Goodnight, Jack," she replies.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading and feedback is very much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and settings are property of their lawful owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews! You guys are amazing. Apparently I should write fluff more often. :D We'll see.

This is my favorite chapter of the story so I got a little impatient and decided to share it with you earlier than I originally planned.  
However, that means you might have to wait a couple of days for chapter 3. Just a warning. I kinda want to rewrite it because it's not as awesome as it could be. Oooops.

I hope you enjoy!

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**CHAPTER 2**

"This better be _very_ important," Jack mumbles into his cell phone. He doesn't even know what time it is, just that it's _too_ early to be answering phone calls but he forgot to turn off the sounds when he went to bed and the damn thing woke him up.

"_Good morning, Jack."_

"Good morning, sir," he grunts but still refuses to open his eyes and face the day.

"_You know who you're speaking with, right?"_

"Yes, I'm aware of the fact that you are the president of United States, sir. But I worked long and hard to achieve this level of hangover and I don't react well when someone tries to interrupt me from enjoying the fruits of my hard work, sir."

"_This is important."_

"Well it'd better be if you're calling me at... _seven_ on a Saturday morning, on my first weekend off in three months. Sir."

"_I'm sorry but I need to come to a party at the White house tonight."_

"Nope. Sorry, no, _sir._"

The mattress seems to shift underneath him and Jack frowns, wondering if he's still so drunk that the world is spinning or if it's something else. When he turns to look at the other half of his bed that's too big for one person, he sees a top of a blond-haired head peeking from under the edge of the comforter.

"_Jack,"_ the president pleads. It probably tells something about how far he's made it in life that the president doesn't _order_ him, he _pleads._ Well, of course he'll switch it to order if the pleading doesn't work but anyway. _"The Chinese ambassador invited himself at the last minute and if you're not there, he will be insulted and it might endanger all the projects we have with the Chinese."_

"Am I allowed to bring a plus one?" he asks and lifts the comforter a little to make sure he's not hallucinating. Sure enough, there's Samantha Carter, curled up in his bed. She's wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt so he's pretty sure it's real. Usually she's wearing a lot less clothes in his dreams. He's not sure if she's sleeping or only pretending to sleep but her eyes are closed.

"_Excuse me?"_

"It appears that there's a hot blonde in my bed, sir. If I'm not allowed to bring her with me, I'd much rather just stay right here. With all due respect, sir."

Ouch, Jack winces when a foot makes contact with his shin. Definitely not asleep then. He lifts the comforter again to get a good look on her face but she seems more amused than angry.

"_This might be the worst decision of my career but I'm going to say yes. I trust your judgment, Jack."_

"Thank you, sir. And for the record, the worst decision of your career was when you didn't let me shoot those idiots in the last meeting. As a matter of fact, it might cost you my vote in the next election, sir."

"_I think I can live with that, Jack."_

"That's too bad, sir. I'm still hoping you'll change your mind."

"_The driver will pick you up half past seven. Will your plus one be leaving from the same place?"_

"Yep. I'll see you tonight, sir."

He puts the phone on the nightstand and turns to look at the woman next to him.

"You did _not_ just call me a hot blonde to the president, did you?"

"It would be rude to lie to the president, Carter. Now, my memories of last night are a _bit_ hazy but I thought you were supposed to sleep on the couch? Not that I'm complaining. I just figured there would be some of that talking thing before, you know, the sleeping thing."

"Talking is overrated."

"Not always," he corrects. He's not a big fan of heart-to-hearts but sometimes they're needed. And if this thing with Carter is really going where he thinks and _hopes_ it's going, they really need to talk or they'll just screw up and that's not really an option.

"You didn't call," she sighs and closes her eyes. He feels like an idiot because he's starting to realize that the lies he told himself these last three months were just that, lies.

"I wanted to give you some space. You know, after... everything."

She opens her eyes to glare at him.

"You're right," he sighs. "That was my reason in the beginning but then I figured you'd be better off without me."

"And you didn't think I should have a say in that?"

"Nope. You see, I have this bad habit of making bad decisions, thinking they're _great_ decisions."

"Like telling the president you're in bed with a hot blonde and then showing up with your former second in command?"

"Hey, I still think it was a great idea!"

When she refuses to reply and only glares at him, he frowns a little and finally sighs.

"Which probably means it was a horrible idea."

She nods and he sighs.

"You don't have to come. But unfortunately I have to be there. When are you leaving?"

"I have to be back at work Monday morning at nine o'clock."

"I could get you a private plane. You could stay until... what? Five in the morning?"

"I already booked a flight. Leaves at midnight on Sunday evening."

"Right, then. That leaves us... about 40 hours before you need to be at the airport."

* * *

They spend two hours shopping. Luckily it's Carter, though, because Jack remembers similar shopping trips with Sara and those took most of the day. Carter is efficient, even when buying fancy clothes and shoes.

"So?" Sam asks when she walks out the fitting room in a dark blue dress. His mouth opens and then closes a couple of seconds later when no words come out. She looks gorgeous. He can see a tiny bit of cleavage, just enough to make him wonder but not too much. The color brings out her eyes and contrasts against her pale skin and the material hugs her beautiful body just right... It's perfect.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "I think I'll take this one," she says and retreats back to the fitting room.

"Wow!" he calls after her when he finally finds his voice again and he can hear her laughter through the door.

* * *

"Colonel Carter!" the president greets with a wide smile and offers his hand right away, then pulls her into a quick hug. "I have to admit I wasn't expecting this when Jack said he would be bringing a date."

"I came for a surprise visit last night," Sam explains. "All the hotels were full so General O'Neill offered his couch."

"Ah, so Jack was just kidding about the hot blonde in his bed part then, huh? Well that's too bad."

Jack raises his eyebrows. "With all due respect, sir, why do you sound so disappointed about that possibility?"

"Ah..." the president looks around them, then puts a hand on both of their backs and gently guides them to the side where they have a little bit of privacy. "You see, there's this bet."

"A bet?" Carter sounds disapproving but not as shocked as Jack would have expected. They both know the SGC loves weird bets, they just never thought they would pull the president into one of them.

"About when you two will finally see what's right in front of you, so to speak. So I was hoping that you would have eloped by now. You haven't been in the same chain of command for months."

"Sorry to disappoint, sir," Jack says, his voice flat and hiding any real emotions about the subject.

"Oh, well. If you're planning anything of the sort, a friendly hint that I'm gonna win the bet if we get official confirmation before October twelfth. Hammond is next. Doctor Jackson said that, and I quote, you two are stubborn idiots and won't take the step before New Year's."

"We'll keep that in mind, sir," Jack says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Colonel Carter?" a voice comes from behind her and they turn to look at the newcomer.

"Ambassador," she greets the older Chinese man with a warm smile and a firm handshake.

"I was not informed that you would be joining us."

"I happened to be in town and General O'Neill invited me. That's why I'm not in uniform, I didn't have time to prepare."

"Do you think you would be able to discuss the details of the newest... project... unprepared, Colonel Carter?" the ambassador asks, trying to keep the classified information at bay when they're in public.

"Oh, she knows that stuff by heart," Jack mumbles.

"Sir?" Sam raises her eyebrows in a silent question but Jack isn't sure what she is asking.

"Go play, Carter. I'll take care of the mingling. You know how much I love it." He flashes her a charming smile which makes Sam laugh a little.

"There is a small conference room by the hall," the president explains. "It's a safe place for your conversation."

"Thank you, mister president," the ambassador says.

"Don't drink too much champagne, sir," Sam warns and he downs the rest of his glass in one go, just to because he can, then wiggles his eyebrows a little. Sam shakes her head, links her arm with the Chinese ambassador and walks away.

"You sure you're not married?" the president asks.

"Positive, sir. But for the record, I never lie about sharing a bed with a woman."

* * *

"Carter!" Jack greets her with a wide smile when she walks back into the room with the Chinese ambassador and his assistant. "I thought they kidnapped you already."

"No, sir. We got lost in a conversation, lost track of time."

"Oh, well, that happens for the best of us. Here, Carter, I saved you some champagne and a couple of these, whatever these tiny things are." He offers her a glass and a small plate.

"Canapés, sir."

"Yep, those."

The Chinese ambassador leans in to say something to his assistant in his native tongue and Jack raises his eyebrows.

"She's not my wife but you're right about the part that she's a lot nicer to do business with," he says, surprising the men. "She's also a lot smarter and has a lot more self restraint than I have ever acquired. And you should go to the president with that suggestion, I would gladly let Carter have my job and retire myself."

"You speak Mandarin?" Carter asks.

"Apparently well enough, based on the shocked looks on their faces."

"My apologies, General O'Neill. I was simply referring to her superior knowledge in the technological aspects of the program."

"Oh, I'm not offended. It doesn't matter which aspect you were referring to, Carter is superior in each and every one of them. But unfortunately she's still missing a couple of stars on her shoulder so you're stuck with me for now."

"I believe we can work efficiently together in this project, General O'Neill, and make decisions that we're both happy with."

"I truly hope so too, Ambassador," he says, this time with no hint of humor or sarcasm.

"I also want you to know that though we do not always see eye to eye, I appreciate your honesty, General O'Neill."

"Thank you. And I appreciate the fact that you're willing to lie about that to make me feel better. Enjoy your evening, Ambassador. We'll meet on Monday morning again."

After pleasantries and handshakes, the Chinese walk away, to the general direction where Jack last saw the president.

"How are your feet, Carter?" Jack leans in to whisper in her ear.

"My _feet_?"

"I could use a convenient excuse to leave this party right about now. Those heels don't look too comfortable."

"I have ran miles with gunshot wounds, sir. I'll manage."

"I didn't mean to diminish your abilities as an officer, Carter," he says softly and puts his hand on the small of her back for a brief second in a way of apology. "I was simply trying to be funny."

"I know," she says and lowers her hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. This is new, touching each other like this, but it feels natural somehow. "And feel free to use my sore feet as an excuse. I don't mind."

"Nah, doesn't feel like a good idea anymore."

* * *

"Mister president," Jack greets when they finally find the man again. "I'm afraid we have to leave."

"Already?"

"My shoes are _killing_ me," he says and moves his weight from one foot to another awkwardly. "And I get _very_ cranky when I'm in pain. You don't want me dealing with ambassadors and other important people when I'm cranky, sir."

"Aren't you always, Jack? Besides, those are the shoes you wear for work _every day_."

"Yes, sir. And I think it's about time I buy new ones."

Sam hides her chuckle into a cough and then smiles sweetly at the president. "I believe the Chinese ambassador is pleased with this evening, sir. We went through some of the technical details and I explained why it's important to do things the way we originally suggested. And since General O'Neill's attendance was only required because of the Chinese, I can't imagine why we should stay longer."

"Oh, very well. Thank you for coming and helping to avoid an international crises."

"Anytime, sir," Jack says and shakes the offered hand. "That's what you pay me for."

"Actually, I was speaking to Colonel Carter, Jack. You seem to create more crises than you solve them."

"That may be true, sir. But you never really know a person before you've seen them angry. And I prefer to know who I'm working with."

"That's true," the president admits. "Thank you for coming. I hope you enjoyed the evening."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and settings are property of their lawful owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N:** Oh, wow. You guys are AWESOME! :D 40 reviews for two chapters? Damn.

This is the chapter that got me a little worried about the OOC part. I don't usually like writing fluff because I feel like I need to cut corners to get to the happy parts and that's exactly what this one does. But it's still cute and fluffy and I can only hope that that's what you guys were looking for when you clicked this little story of mine. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

As soon as they're inside, Sam kicks off her high heels and picks them up before she heads towards the couch where her duffel is.

"Ah-ah, stop right there!" Jack orders. "You're bleeding all over my floor. Christ, Sam, I really _was_ right about those shoes being uncomfortable."

"Oh, God! I'm sorry, sir." Sam drops the shoes on the floor, planning to put them on again so she won't make more of a mess. She knew there were a couple of blisters on her toes, one on her heel and one under her foot but she didn't realize they had burst already.

"No, you won't! You're not gonna wear those again. Come on." He scoops her up and carries her to the bathroom. "You wanna clean them yourself or will I?" he asks as he lowers her on the toilet lid. Sam almost comments on what a stupid stunt that was with his bad knees but she knows how much he hates when people bring it up.

"I'm perfectly capable of dressing my own wounds, sir. Jack," she corrects.

"Just because you _can_ do it alone doesn't mean you should." He smiles gently and she gets the impression that they're talking about something more than just blisters here.

She wants to explain that she's fine now, that her losses aren't open wounds anymore but more like bruises and scars, dull ache that's slowly fading though she can still see the marks. But that's too many words for a situation like this, when she could be reading it wrong to begin with.

"I'll be fine, Jack," she says softly and smiles at him, hoping he gets the message.

"If you need me, I'll be right over there." He smiles and points over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

Sam knows that. Even before this weekend, she knew that if she ever needs him, he'll be there. She wasn't certain about anything else but she knew that.

"I know," she says with a nod and a little smile. "If you want to feel useful, you could bring my duffel and pour me a glass of something alcoholic while I take a shower." It's not a direct _order_ she's giving but it still feels a little odd to ask something from him.

"Is wine enough or should I open the whiskey?" Jack glances at the blood stain on the floor and winces. "And before you say it, gunshot wounds are easier to deal with because there's usually adrenaline involved and it numbs the pain."

"They're blisters, not paper cuts. Wine would be lovely, thank you."

"Copy that," Jack says and turns around. "Wine for blisters, whiskey for paper cuts," he mumbles as he goes. "You'd better write that down O'Neill."

* * *

"So..." Jack starts and tilts his paper cup to take a sip of wine. He cleared the couch and they're now sitting on it, side by side, resting their feet on the boxes that hold his Simpson's collection and probably something else, too. Maybe the coffee cups he hasn't managed to find yet, possibly even the wine glasses he desperately tried to find fifteen minutes ago. He has a coffee table somewhere but he's not quite sure where. Probably on the guest room bed, it would make sense in an odd sort of way. "You wanna talk?"

"I think Daniel might have been right."

"Don't tell him but that happens surprisingly often. About anything specific?"

"Us being stubborn idiots."

"Ah... I don't think the word _idiot_ applies to you under any circumstances, Sam. But stubborn? Yeah, I guess we are."

"And what should we do about it?" she asks.

Jack turns to smile at her, eyes twinkling with humor. He makes a quick calculation and decides they're both sober enough to know what they're doing. They had a couple of glasses of champagne both and he's feeling relaxed but that's about it.

"Oh, I can think of a couple of things," Jack says, his smile widening into a boyish grin.

"I thought you wanted to talk first," Sam comments but she doesn't sound too upset about it.

"I just asked if you wanted to."

"And if I don't?"

"Like I said, I can think of a couple of things," he repeats. He's feeling a bit more confident that they're actually on the same page here even though they haven't said the words out loud. Any words, really, considering their relationship. Because he's pretty sure they have a relationship now, or at least the option is available. Well to be honest he has no idea what page they're on, he just knows he really wants to kiss her and he thinks she wouldn't object if he tried.

"For example?" her eyebrows rise towards her hairline, eyes twinkling with humor and anticipation.

"Well, I was thinking..." he lifts his hand to cup the side of her face and gently strokes her cheek with his thumb. "...something like..." he leans in a little, going slow so that she has the chance to stop him if he's reading this wrong but she gives her approval with the tiniest of nods. "...this," he sighs the last word against her lips before he closes the distance between them. Or tries to, because his aim is a little off and their noses bump against each other a little before they get the angle right.

It's a nice kiss. Nothing more, nothing less. Her lip balm tastes like mint and makes his lips feel all cool and tingly. When they break the kiss, Sam hums happily, her eyes still closed, and rests her forehead against his for a brief second. When she pulls back a little more, Jack sees the wicked smile on her lips.

"With all due respect, sir," she says softly. "I think we can do better than that."

"Huh?" is all he has time to say before she pushes him on his back and kisses him again with a lot more passion. When they finally break the kiss this time, they're both a little out of breath and Sam buries her face to Jack's neck, her warm, quick breaths hitting his sensitive skin.

"Well," he says and stops to clear his throat. "I have always said that practice makes perfect."

"Would you like to practice some more?"

"Oh, trust me, I'd love to. But I don't want to overdo it in the first practice. Might pull a muscle, you know?"

She giggles a little, her face still buried in his neck, and he thinks they really are on the same page here, finally. He's still not quite sure what the page is called but it's a fine one, that much he knows. His favorite one, actually.

* * *

"Everything alright?" Sam asks, looking at him over the edge of her coffee cup, a paper one because he still hasn't found the real ones. It's Sunday morning, an early one, and a few rays of sun have managed to find their way between the buildings of DC, painting mesmerizing patterns on the breakfast counter. Or at least he finds them mesmerizing.

"What?" he flinches awake and blinks a couple of times. "Yeah, sure." He can feel the awkwardness in the air and he wonders why it's there all of a sudden when everything felt so easy the evening before. Maybe there was more champagne in their bloodstreams than he thought.

"You sure? You seem to be lost in thought."

"I just didn't sleep too well, I guess. It's alright." He tries to smile but his face twists into a yawn instead.

"Did I snore or something?" Sam asks, alarmed. They fell asleep in the same bed but on their own sides of it, facing each other but not touching. They were both afraid they'd take things too far too fast otherwise.

"No, of course not. You just-" Jack stops quickly before he says something he'd regret. "Not your fault, Carter."

Her face falls immediately at the use of her last name.

"God..." Jack grunts and rubs his face, trying to force himself to wake up before he screws up completely. "Look, Sam... Nothing bad. You were just... cuddling," he confesses.

"I was?"

"Yeah, you were." They fell asleep and woke up on the opposite sides of the bed but somewhere in between, there was sleepy cuddling involved. Lots of it.

"I'm sorry. You should have woken me up and told me to move."

She sounds... insecure, all of a sudden. What happened to that woman who booked a flight just to talk with him?

"You see, that's the problem. I didn't _want_ you to move. I just... lay awake and though about... about how I _really_ didn't want you to move. As in, you know, for a _long_ time." He wants to say _ever_ but that's almost like a proposal and they shared their first kiss yesterday so it's a little too early for words like _always_ and _forever. _Except not _always_ because that he promised for her already, though in a slightly different context.

He can clearly see the moment she catches the important part he's actually _not_ saying and the worry lines on her face smooth out immediately. "So..." she says softly and takes a sip of her coffee. "This thing? We're actually doing this?"

"I would very much like to do this thing with you, Carter. Sam. Dammit!"

"I'll forgive for that slip of the tongue. You are sleep deprived, after all."

"Yeah, and it's all your fault because you're cute when you sleep."

Sam raises her eyebrows and Jack heaves a sigh before he shoves his paper cup towards Sam and the coffee pot that's next to her. "Just give me more coffee before I completely embarrass myself."

She laughs and he feels confident that they have managed to avoid the crises for now.

* * *

"Why do you have so many boxes?" Sam asks when they have opened the first ten of them, trying to find some kind of logical starting point.

"I sold my house," Jack says with a shrug and slices open the duct tapes around box number eleven.

"But didn't you go through your things before you moved? I remember Daniel was supposed to help you."

"Oh, he was," Jack admits and lifts a pair of jeans from the box. He hasn't seen those for twenty years, except from the moment when he packed them. Interesting. He wonders if he could still fit in them. Probably not.

"But?" Sam asks.

"What? Oh, Daniel. Yeah. He came, I offered a beer and we started to go through my things, then he got all emotional about me moving and the adventures we shared over the years. I wasn't in the mood so I gave him another beer and let him pass out on the couch. Just shoved everything into boxes and made him believe he was a great help." Jack grins and lifts a pair of cut-out jean shorts out of the box, wiggling his eyebrows at Sam. They're way too short to be worn in public and he can't remember why he even owns them.

"Didn't it cost a fortune to move all your... things, here?" She takes the shorts and shoves them back into the box, down the left side of it as deep as her arm can reach. Not her favorite pair then, he decides. Which probably means he's going to wear them the next time they go fishing, just to see the look on her face.

"Pentagon paid for it. I never liked the guy who had to set it up so that was reason number two why I didn't sort them."

"And where were you planning to fit all this? I mean... This apartment is quite spacious but it's not a house."

"I didn't think that far," he admits.

"Of course you didn't... Now, sit down on the couch and start going through that box of clothes and throw away everything you're not planning to wear."

Jack raises his eyebrows because that's a direct command she just gave. Bossy Carter. Sweet! "And what exactly are you planning to do while I sort the laundry?"

"I'm going to organize your kitchen," she says and lifts one box on the table, apparently the one that holds his coffee cups, plates and glasses, the only box he has been _trying_ to locate. "Any preferences?"

"As long as my coffee cups are in close proximity of the coffee maker, I don't really care."

* * *

An hour later Jack is asleep on the couch, an old denim jacket acting as a blanket, and Sam has organized all his kitchen equipment and made a list of things he needs to buy, including food.

By the time Jack wakes up from his nap, she has managed to go through ten boxes, his bookshelf is suddenly full and organized with Carter-like precision and there's take-out Chinese waiting on the coffee table which she apparently found somewhere.

"You should have woken me up," he grunts and sits up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. "I'm neither young nor old enough to need naps."

"You look cute when you sleep," she says with a grin which immediately lifts his mood.

"Touché, Carter," he admits.

"Sam," she corrects but doesn't sound disappointed about him slipping into the old title.

"Sam," he repeats anyway, just to see the smile on her face.

* * *

Their dinner consists of pizza and wine but at least this time they are drinking it from real glasses instead of paper cups.

"I'm exhausted," Sam sighs when she puts her empty glass on the coffee table and leans back on the couch.

"Yeah, me too," Jack admits and gulps down what's left of his wine before he relaxes against the back of the couch as well. "Come 'ere," Jack mumbles and puts his arm on the back of the couch behind her, inviting her to cuddle.

"I'm going to fall asleep if I say yes to that," she says. "And I have a flight to catch in a couple of hours."

"I'll set an alarm," Jack offers and pulls his cell phone from his back pocket.

"You know how to use that?"

"Alright, _you_ set an alarm." He tosses the phone to Sam who chuckles as she fiddles with the settings.

"Done," she announces and puts the phone on the table, then gets settled against Jack's shoulder. He leans to the side and brings her with him until they're lying down, Sam draped on top of him.

"You think you can sleep this time?" she whispers. "With all the cuddling going on?"

"I think I'll manage."

* * *

"So..." Jack says and pushes his hands into his pockets, suddenly feeling very awkward standing in front of the departures hall at the airport.

"So..." Sam repeats and adjust the duffel on her shoulder. "Call me?"

"Oh, I will." His face twists into a boyish grin suddenly when he realizes that for the first time he can call Carter just to _chat_, no excuses, no work emergencies, just normal conversations. Not that they're very good at those, but at least they can practice. He likes practicing things with her.

Apparently Sam is thinking the same thing because she takes a step forward, her gaze flicking between his lips and his eyes. He's expecting a chaste goodbye kiss but instead she pushes her tongue into his mouth and cups the back of his head to keep him in place, not that he'd go anywhere even if he could. His hands find their way to her waist, pulling her against his body. Somewhere in the distance someone wolf-whistles but he barely notices. They only break the kiss when an announcement comes that her flight will start boarding soon.

"So," she says again, this time a little breathless.

"So..." he repeats.

"Until next time then, I guess."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Until then."

She plants one more kiss, a chaste one this time, on his lips and turns to walk away.

"Call me if you can't find something," she calls over her shoulder.

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

Sam doesn't say anything but her shoulders shake a little and Jack suspects that she might be laughing. He thinks he missed a joke somewhere along the way but he's not sure what it could have been. Oh, well. Doesn't matter, really, because he just had the best weekend of his life so far.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and settings are property of their lawful owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N:** Thank you for the amazing feedback! You guys are the best.

This chapter is mainly phone calls, funny, cute, phone calls between Sam and Jack. And one slightly awkward one with Daniel (just a warning) because I really wanted to have it in this story, too.

Also, I know I said this story would be four chapters but this one got too long so I decided to stretch the last part a little and give you five. So... One more chapter after this one and then, at some point, an epilogue which reveals who wins the bet. At least that's the plan today.

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

"Carter," she answers her phone without checking the ID. The day has been something between bad and catastrophic and she's been running from meeting to meeting, trying to sort out things and explain what went wrong. Her day officially ended two hours ago but she's still stuck in the office, trying to make the simulation work so they can finally solve the main problem. She's expecting this to be another_ "Ma'am, I think we have a problem"_ -call which would mean she won't be going home for the night.

"Where's my coffee cup?" Jack asks. Sam's mood lifts right away and she smirks because she knows exactly which cup he means: the Simpsons one, his second favorite cup which he only uses when he's too lazy to wash the silly cup which he got from his team a couple of years ago. She's surprised he hasn't missed it earlier because it has been ten days since she left DC.

"Freezer, second shelf," she says right away. "Let it warm up for a while before you pour the coffee, otherwise it might break."

"See? When I couldn't find the knives and the sugar without calling you, I thought maybe it was just your brilliant brain following some logic that's completely foreign to me but now I'm _certain_ that you intentionally hid half my belongings around my apartment."

"That may or may not be true," she admits. It's his fault, really, for falling asleep on the couch. She just couldn't resist the temptation.

"Why?" he asks.

"Just an insurance policy."

"An insurance policy?"

"You're a busy man, General. The easiest way to get a hold of you is to make you need me."

He goes so quiet that for a moment Sam thinks the line might have gone dead but then he heaves a sigh and she can feel the shivers running down her spine when she realizes that he's about to say something _real_ this time, not just another joke.

"I need you, alright. I have for a long time."

"Ditto that," she says softly, not much louder than a whisper. She's not quite sure what this thing between them is but she's very glad they finally gave it a go.

* * *

"O'Neill," comes the grumpy answer when the call finally connects. It's Thursday evening, almost three weeks after she flew to DC, and Sam hasn't heard of him all week so she decided to call him instead.

"How was your day, honey?" she asks in overly sweet voice, hoping to cheer him up a little.

"Let's just say hell and leave it at that."

"Still negotiating with the Chinese?"

"Reading through the agreement, one page at a time, before we sign it. It has two hundred and eighty-two pages and we have to stop to argue about details on at least every other page. My hands are just one big paper cut right now."

"You want me to leave you alone in your misery?"

He seems to be beyond the point where she could cheer him up and she doesn't want to make his mood worse.

"Please do," he sighs, sounding apologetic. "I'm scared I'll say something extremely rude. I shouldn't be allowed to talk with anyone right now."

"Alright. Can I call you tomorrow evening?"

"Please do. I'll try to feel better by then."

When Jack comes to work the next day, there's a big bottle of whiskey waiting on his desk with a note that says "Wine for blisters..." and nothing else. Apparently Sam has been getting friendly with his secretary and he's slightly worried about that but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

Jack takes his cell phone and pushes speed dial one.

Sam answers the phone with a half asleep "huh?" and Jack curses internally when he realizes the time difference.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. Math has never been my strongest skill."

"'s okay," she mumbles. "I'm still better company than you would have been yesterday," she says, still sounding sleepy but surpisingly cheery as well.

"True," he agrees with a chuckle and turns the bottle around in his hand. "Sorry about that. And thank you for the alcohol."

"You're welcome. Though I expected that you'd have a glass or two before you call me and wasn't expecting a call before the evening."

"Yeah, well, your gift lifted my mood so I thought I'd call before the Chinese kill it again."

* * *

The phone rings and Sam balances it between her ear and shoulder as she keeps drying the plates. "The cupboard above the freezer, behind the empty beer bottles," she answers the phone.

"Do I even _want_ to know what you hid there?"

"What are you looking for, Jack?"

"Nothing! I just thought I'd call and say hi, you know. Like normal people. But you aroused my curiosity now."

Sam can hear the scratching sound that comes from a chair being dragged along the kitchen floor and she smiles to herself.

"What _is_ this?" he asks and she has to chuckle because he sounds honestly confused about the thing.

"It was Daniel's Christmas present for you, remember?"

"Yes, I recognize that much, but what_ is _it?"

"I believe it's an espresso machine."

"A _what?_"

"Espresso. Strong coffee that's served in small cups?"

"Did he get two for the price of one because that sounds like something Daniel needs, not me."

She chuckles, puts down the dish towel and sits down at the kitchen table. "That's possible."

"Also, why on Earth did you think I was looking for _that_?"

"Because it's the last thing I remember hiding." It's been six weeks since her visit and he's found all her secret stashes by now, either on his own or with her help.

"Oh. So... you don't know where the other one of my favorite socks is? Because one was on the hallway table but I can't find the other one."

"Sorry, Jack. I can't take credit for that one." His name still feels a little foreign leaving her lips but she likes practicing because she knows it makes him smile every time.

"Damn."

She chuckles a little and leans back in her chair. "So, how are you?"

"Oh, just peachy. Budget negotiations, stupid assholes, you know the drill. I was hoping you could tell something to cheer me up."

She appreciates the fact that he doesn't shut her out anymore, not even on the bad days.

"Cassie broke up with her boyfriend," Sam says because that's about only news she has to share, good or bad.

"I know I'm not the most empathic person on this planet, Sam, but I do _not_ take pleasure in knowing my goddaughter is going through an emotional crises."

"You never liked the guy. I thought you'd be glad."

"I don't like the _thought _of Cassie having a boyfriend. This one was no worse than the last ten of them."

"Five," Sam quickly corrects.

"Did he hurt her?"

"No need for a fatherly intervention, Jack. It just didn't work out."

"How's Cassie?"

"Bit sad but okay, I think. We had a girl's night yesterday. Ice cream and chick flicks."

"Cute pajamas and pillow fights?"

"Perhaps."

They're quiet for a while but it's the good kind of silence and she thinks they both have the same silly smile on their faces. She likes these phone calls though they don't usually say anything important. It's good to hear his voice every now and then.

"Sam?" he finally asks.

"Yes, Jack?"

"Are you my girlfriend now?"

She has to laugh out loud because she's pretty sure the last time she heard those words she was ten years old and the boy sounded just as nervous as Jack does now. "I would like to be your girlfriend, Jack. If you're OK with that."

"I would very much like to be your boyfriend, Sam."

"Good. I'm glad we got that settled."

"Yeah, me too. Because there was this kid at the mall today who asked if I have a girlfriend and he didn't really understand what _it's complicated_ means."

"Why were you hanging out with a kid at the mall?" she has to ask because she can't remember him having any friends or relatives there, especially not ones with kids.

"I was on a lunch break and he had lost his parents in the crowd. His Dad is in the air force, too, so he trusted me because he saw the uniform. I just stayed with him until they found his parents. Anyway. He asked if there's a girl I liked and I said yes. He asked if I kissed this girl I like and when I said yes, he said you're my girlfriend then. I tried to explain it's not so simple. He sighed and rolled his eyes, then said that adults always make things too complicated."

"I like his logic," Sam admits. She suspects that Jack's lunch break probably stretched longer than intended and he probably postponed a meeting with the president or something equally important just to make sure the kid was OK. That would be just like him. She doesn't voice her suspicion, though, because she knows it makes him uncomfortable.

* * *

"Hey, Daniel!" she answers her phone. Usually he calls on weekends, last time Friday evening, but now it's Tuesday so she's slightly surprised.

"Hi, Sam!" he says but then goes quiet like he was expecting her to say something next.

"Uh, hi?" she tries because she's not sure what script they're supposed to follow.

"Look, I have a question." He sounds bit hesitant and she wonders what he wants to know.

"Sure. Go ahead," she takes her tea cup, planning to gulp down the last of the already cold liquid before she gets a refill.

"Are you and Pete together again?"

The cup freezes mid air, still tilted, tea flowing down to the floor in front of her. The spoon hits the floor and makes a clinging sound as it jumps a couple of times and only then she snaps back to reality and puts the empty cup back on the coffee table.

"No," she says firmly and gets up, quickly trying to figure which is closer, the kitchen or the cleaning closet, because she needs to clean up the mess. "Pete and I are not back together. Where the hell did you get that idea?"

"Good."

"Good?" She grabs her scarf from the kitchen counter and throws it on the puddle, hoping it will absorb at least some of the liquid before it ruins her hardwood floor.

"Well it's just that... You have seemed so... _happy_, lately."

"I'm happy because I got out of a relationship that wasn't working." Well that's one reason. She's not ready to tell the other reason because though they agreed about the boyfriend-girlfriend thing already, fact is that they haven't been to a single date, they've just slept in the same bed for two nights and made out on the couch a little, like some horny teenagers. The memory makes her grin again and she tries to think of something sad so that Daniel can't hear the happiness in her voice.

"Yeah, I thought so, too," Daniel says, sounding genuinely relieved. Sam wonders how long her friends had hoped she'd dump Pete. She kinda wishes they had said something but then again, she knows she wouldn't have reacted very well.

"And I thought perhaps you were seeing, you know, _someone_." It's obvious that Daniel means Jack but Sam appreciates the fact that he doesn't actually say the name out loud. "But then I went to Denver to visit a museum last weekend and I happened to see Pete and he looked happy, too, so I thought that perhaps..."

"No," she firmly denies. "Not my fault that he's happy. He's dating his neighbor." A nice single mom who works in a grocery store, has one dog and likes baking. She sounds like someone with whom Pete could actually be happy, someone who wouldn't panic and run at the thought of house in the suburbs and a white picket fence. She's genuinely happy for him.

"Oh. Did he... tell you?"

"We're not exactly talking anymore. Mark called. Said if I act quick, I could still get Pete back before he falls head over heels for the woman." That had been one extremely interesting phone call and she's almost certain she won't get an invitation to spend Christmas with them this year. But that's alright because she has Cassie, and Jack, and her team. She'll be fine.

"Your brother really doesn't know you at all, does he?"

"Daniel," she snorts. "You just called to ask if I took Pete back." Or more like if Pete took _her_ back but it doesn't matter.

"Well, yeah, but it's different."

"How is it different?"

"Because if you had said yes, I would have suspected that you're, you know, under some kind of... _influence_ because it would have been very odd behavior for you."

"That's comforting, Daniel." Not really.

"Yes, well... So you're not happy because of Pete?"

"No, not because of Pete."

"So you seeing anyone then?"

She knows he's asking about Jack but she's glad he doesn't mention his name because then she would have to lie. Now she can just, sort of, talk around the question and hope he doesn't notice that she's not actually answering it.

"I'm just relieved because things are starting to make sense again, Daniel. I'm out of the front lines, spending time with Cassie, working on interesting projects... Life is good, Daniel. That's why I'm happy."

"That makes sense," he agrees.

"Yes, it does. So, how are you?"

He launches into a long explanation about the museum exhibition he went to see, about the recent news from around the world and how people have learned nothing from history, and even manages to throw in some Colorado Springs gossip which greatly surprises Sam. She suspects that Daniel consulted someone else, probably one of the nurses, about that subject. She misses him, misses having these conversations with him over a cup of coffee instead of on the phone, but the total balance is still on the positive side because she feels like she has gained more than she has lost by moving to the other side of the country.

* * *

"Coming!" she yells when the doorbell rings for the eighth time, sounding more and more aggressive every time. She was going to ignore it because nobody knows her address yet so probably it's just someone trying to sell something she doesn't need but the ringing is making it hard to focus on the report she's trying to write. It's Friday evening and she wants to finish with the work because she has scheduled a date with bubble bath and a glass of wine for the evening.

She pulls the door open with a bit too much force, ready to speak her mind about the interruption.

"You said you didn't hide anything else but I swear I have searched the whole house," Jack says as soon as the door is opened. "And I can _not_ find my blue shirt. The flannel one, the warm and soft and-"

"I stole it," she interrupts him with her confession and then corrects "borrowed" right after.

"I KNEW IT!"

"You flew all the way here just to tell me that?" she asks and steps aside to let him in.

"I'm needed in some meetings in Area 51 next week. I thought perhaps I could sleep on your couch. And, you know, I figured if I could find my shirt in the process... It would be a bonus."

"Just because you found it doesn't mean you'll get it back."

"Couldn't I trade it for something a little less... _favorite shirt_?"

"Well, I might consider if that shirt you're wearing right now is an option. And I don't have a couch yet."

"I know," he says with a grin and sways a little back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Sam chuckles and plants a chaste kiss on his lips. "It's good to see you."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading! The next chapter has less than 500 words at the moment and I'm not sure how busy I'll be tomorrow so you might have to wait two days for an update but worry not, it is coming. I already have it all planned so it shouldn't take too long if I just have time to sit down and write.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and settings are property of their lawful owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N: **I'm so so sorry about the delay! This chapter is quite long, though. That's my way of apologizing. If you don't want to hear my excuses, just skip to the chapter but I want to explain.

First my DVD-player died. Doesn't affect writing all that much but it annoyed me greatly. Then I got busy preparing for my knee surgery that was scheduled months ago, stacking up food and making backup plans who to call if I can't manage on my own. Then I had the surgery (last Tuesday). To my surprise everything went fine, no complications, painkillers were working fine, I felt good and energetic and inspired and typed up 1800 words for this chapter.

Then my laptop died, two hours after I stopped writing, about 15 minutes before I had planned to make backup copies of my files. I can't drive and I couldn't walk more than 50 meters at that point but eventually I got someone to give me a ride and bought a new laptop.

Then my knee started acting up and the only position I could stay in was lying on my back, which makes writing very difficult. Painkillers didn't help and finally I went to the ER. A cute doctor gave me a prescription to some stronger painkillers, the kind that make me feel sleepy, dizzy and bit drunk but apparently also help my muse. (I don't know how much sense this chapter will make, though. You can blame the weirdness for opioids.)

So yeah. Now I can actually sit on the couch and not just lie down. Problem is that the meds make me sleep 18 hours a day so no promises about future writing projects.

I'm going to mark this story as complete now so thank you for reading. I have some ideas about an epilogue that wraps up the bet sidestory but I make no promises about when (or if) that will be posted.

Oh, and I want to thank XFchemist for youtube video recommendations! I haven't had time to transfer my music & video libraries yet and I was struggling to get my inspiration on the right gear. I don't know if you agree about this being the _right _gear, though. :D

Thank you all for the reviews and one more time, sorry about the delay.  
(I shouldn't be allowed to publish stories chapter by chapter because this happens every single time.)

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

"You know..." Jack starts. He's playing with the label of his beer bottle, doing his very best to stay out of Sam's way but staying still for long periods of time has never been one of his strengths. "Not that I had any specific plan for the evening but..."

He feels bad the same moment when Sam's sigh interrupts his rambling. She stops typing and rubs her temples which he has learned to connect with being tense or just plain annoyed.

"I'm sorry," say says softly. "I can finish this some other time."

"Nah. It's OK," he reassures her. "I burst here with no warning, it's not my place to complain."

He has no doubt that she would stop writing right away if he asked her to, but she would also think about the unfinished project all weekend and he's just selfish enough to admit that he prefers to have her undivided attention. Not that he knows what he would _do_ with that attention but he'll come up with something.

Besides, even this is about a zillion times better than another lonely evening at home. Despite what she said, Carter _does_ have a couch. Or, well, maybe not a _couch_. It's more like an armchair on steroids, not even big enough to be called a loveseat. They're sitting hip to hip, touching from knees to shoulder, and he can feel the muscles vibrating on her arm when she types on her laptop.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he says and tries to smile reassuringly. "I've got beer. I'll be fine." To emphasize the point, he takes a swig from the bottle.

"Alright. Besides, I'm almost done. Just give me-" she stops to glance at the clock, then goes through the different programs she has open on her laptop and looks at the clock again. "Eight and a half minutes."

Jack raises his eyebrows at her, amused.

"What?"

"Oh, it's just that usually when you say you're almost done it ends with me dragging you to bed at four in the morning because you got distracted and never left your lab."

"I don't mind," Sam says casually and turns to look at her laptop again.

"Uh, don't mind what, exactly?"

"If you drag me to bed in case I don't finish in time."

"I didn't mean it like that," Jack mumbles, blushing a little, his mind suddenly assaulted with a very interesting set of images and fantasies.

"You sure?" Sam ask and she sounds almost... disappointed? Jack frowns, wondering what the heck is happening here.

"Uh... I don't know. Am I?"

Sam only chuckles and lifts her fingers on the keyboard. "Eight and a half," she reminds him and starts typing away.

"Yes, ma'am," Jack mumbles and focuses his attention to the bookshelf on the other side of the room instead of the warm woman sitting next to him. Because the images that keep popping to his head are quite distracting, he tries his best to empty his mind completely instead of over analyzing her words.

The bookshelf confuses Jack. Well, not the shelf, really, but the books in it, particularly the order in which they are placed there. They're all placed in a straight line, exactly on the edge of the shelf, but they're not in any logical order. They're not alphabetically organized and neither does it look like they're sorted by year of publishing because every now and then there are some very old and worn looking books in between the new and shiny ones. Jack makes a mental note to ask about it at some point.

Jack finally snaps out of his thoughts when he sees the minute pointer snap one more minute forward, hovering over the thick line that pretends to be number two on her fancy clock.

"Sam?" he asks because he's almost certain her time is up already.

"I still have twelve seconds," she mumbles and keeps typing away furiously. "Nine, eight." She use some kinds of fancy keyboard shortcuts to switch between windows. "Seven, six," she mumbles as she clicks here and there and the window either closes or drops to the bottom of the screen, he's not sure. "Five, four," she opens the text file again and her fingers twist into another series of shortcut acrobatics on the keyboard. "Three," she sighs and snaps the lid shut. "See? Plenty of time."

"If that had been a bomb countdown, I'd be having a heart attack right about now."

"I'm sure we've cut it closer than that a time or two."

"That may be."

She grins at him and he can't help but smile back.

"So..." Jack says, feeling a bit nervous when he remembers her earlier suggestion. "We didn't actually establish what we would do in case you _do_ finish on time."

"Oh, it's simple," she says, puts the laptop on the coffee table and gets up. "We follow my original plan for the evening," she tells him, over her shoulder, as she walks towards the kitchen.

"Yeah?" Jack asks and turns to look where she disappeared behind the wall. "And what was that?"

A few seconds later she appears in the doorway with a bottle of sparkling wine. "Champagne in a bubble bath," she announces with a wide grin on her face.

The smile fades soon when Jack fails to react in any way except staring.

Just when she opens her mouth to apologize, Jack manages to get his bearings again. "Geez, Carter, give a guy a warning."

Sam's eyebrows rise a little.

"I'm not complaining. You just almost gave me a heart attack there."

"So?" she asks and nods towards the bathroom.

"Shouldn't we fill the tub first?"

"Wanna get started with the champagne while we wait?"

* * *

"Your hair is wet," Jack groans when Sam snuggles up against him, her head tucked under his chin.

"So is your chest," she mumbles back, sounding half asleep.

"Different thing. That's sweat and it's all your fault."

She chuckles and gives his chest a gentle pat. "Do you want me to dry my hair?"

Jack doesn't comment anything and Sam assumes he fell asleep already until a very thoughtful "Hmm..." escapes his lips.

"Jack?"

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"You know, it comes down to the basic question: touching or watching. Because though your hair is wet, I have to admit you feel kinda nice snuggled up against me like that, all warm and naked. But then again, drying your hair would mean you walk across the room, naked. That's a tough question there, Sam."

"Too many words," Sam groans.

"Did I finally figure out a way to revert you to monosyllables?"

"Almost."

Jack chuckles and plants a kiss on the top of her still wet hair. Sam takes that as a sign that the conversation is over and lets herself drift towards sleep, lulled by Jack's steady heartbeat.

"What's with the bookshelf?" Jack asks when Sam is just about to fall asleep.

"Why are you still awake?" she groans.

"I'm happy!"

"Well can't you be happy and _asleep?_"

"Sure. Sorry. Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight, Jack," she mumbles against his chest. A few seconds later she snaps awake again when his words finally register. "What about my bookshelf?" Why is he thinking about her bookshelf of all things? Especially _now?_

"The books aren't organized by author, title or year of publishing. What's with that?"

"Accuracy of theories."

"Why do you even keep the inaccurate ones?"

"That's the entertainment section of my bookshelf," Sam answers, drawing a low chuckle from Jack.

"You really are unique, Sam."

"Yes. Can we sleep _now_?"

* * *

They both wake up with a start when a key turns in the front door.

"Cassie," Sam says and untangles herself from Jack's arms. "Quickly, you need to hide somewhere."

"Would you prefer the closet or under the bed?" Jack asks, voice filled with dry sarcasm. It's not like they're doing anything _wrong_ here. Sam is quickly pulling on a shirt, the flannel one she stole from Jack, he notices.

"Sam?" Cassie calls from the hallway and Jack's first thought is that at least Sam's shirt is long because she won't have time to find panties.

"No time for hiding," Sam mumbles and tosses the comforter over Jack.

"Sam, this _really_ won't wor-"

"Sam?" Cassie knocks on the bedroom door and Jack goes silent and tries to stay as still as possible, doing his best impersonation of, well, a _lump_ on Carter's bed. He's not quite sure how she's going to explain his presence.

"Hey, honey," Sam says and Jack can hear her turn a page of her book, probably acting all casual like she was just reading a book in bed and her boyfriend wasn't hiding underneath the comforter. Jack wonders if the books is from the entertainment section of her shelf or if she's reading the serious ones in bed. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.

"Oh, you're still in bed. You're not sick, are you?"

"No, I'm fine. Just being lazy. What is it?"

"I thought perhaps we could go shopping. If you have nothing better to do. I tried calling but you didn't answer."

"I probably forgot to turn on the sounds again. And shopping sounds nice."

Jack can hear the mattress shifting and he knows Sam is getting up. He tries to remember exactly how long that shirt is. His left foot is really starting to itch and he needs to pee so he hopes the girls will move away from the room and doorway _quickly_.

"Have you had breakfast already?"

"Sam, it's almost lunch time. Of course I had breakfast! Were you up all night working again?"

"I had a report to finish," she says. Not a lie, really, just not the whole truth. "And I got a little... carried away," she continues and Jack has to bite his lip to stop himself from snorting. That's one way to put it, yes. He's gonna draw blood if he keeps gnawing at his lip.

He can hear they women are in the hallway already but he hasn't heard the door close yet. Jack counts to five, as slowly as his full bladder allows him to, before he _has_ to move his left foot and scratch it against the right calf. Oh, good heavens. That feels _great_. Now he just needs to sneak to the bathroom and pee as quietly as he-

"Oh my God, Sam!" Cassie screams.

Crap. He almost wet himself for that one. Jack pushes his head a little tighter against the pillow to stop the ringing.

"Sam! Your laundry pile just moved!"

Laundry pile? Since when does Carter leave her laundry in _piles_, huh? Sounds more like something Cassie does. That's probably why the girl didn't question the lump on a bed in the first place.

"What if it's a rat!" the girl sounds almost hysterical.

After all the things the girl has seen in her life, she's scared of rats? Women are weird, Jack decides. He tries to remember if he's ever been called a rat before. Lots of other interesting names but he can't remember any rodents. Then again, Daniel doesn't always translate the most hideous insults off-world. _Come on now, Carter. A nice little save right about now..._

"Wait. Is that a foot?"

Double crap. His foot must have slipped from underneath the sheet.

"Sam... Is your boyfriend hiding in your bed?"

The teenager's voice sounds... almost shaky. Sam doesn't say anything but apparently she confirmed the girl's suspicion otherwise.

"No," Cassie says firmly. "I don't wanna know about this."

"Well in case you didn't notice, I was doing my best that you _wouldn't_ know about it."

Jack wonders if it's just his imagination or if his way of speaking has rubbed off on Sam. He's trying to decide if he should just pull down the covers and explain but he's waiting for a sign from Sam.

"You don't understand," Cassie says firmly. "They all hurt you. Or they die. Some of them do both. I don't want to watch how... no."

Jack can hear footsteps as the girl stomps down the hallway. Then she stops, turns around and walks back to Sam.

"Does uncle Jack know?"

"Yes, he does," Sam says and he can imagine the serious but official look on her face right now.

"He's gonna get drunk again," Cassie sighs. "A lot."

Jack takes that as his cue to step in and correct the misunderstanding. He really doesn't want Carter to know how upset he was about the whole Pete thing. It's past now, it doesn't matter anymore. He can't see Cassie because they're standing a few feet left of the bedroom door in the hallway so he decides it's safe and throws his legs over the edge of the bed.

"I'm pretty sure I won't be getting drunk because of this boyfriend, Cassie," he says and gets up. Cool air reaches his nether regions and kindly reminds him of the fact that he's still naked. Jack quickly drops down on the bed and pulls the sheet to cover himself, trying to look all casual leaning against the headboard.

"Uncle Jack?" the girl asks and peeks from the doorway.

"Yeah," he agrees.

"How long have you two been sleeping together?" she asks, her arms folded on her chest. She looks just like Janet when she does that and Jack has to swallow the lump in his throat when he thinks of the petite doctor.

"Uh..." he starts and glances at the clock. "I'd say about ten hours, give or take."

"No, I mean like-"

"Nine and a half," Sam says. "And yes, we know what you mean."

The girls lips for a surprised _Oh_ but no sound comes out.

Jack smiles at the girl and nods towards the kitchen. "Could you be a good girl and go get the coffee maker started so we can get dressed?"

"You're _naked?_"

"I am. And Carter is _almost_ naked." Jack wiggles his eyebrows a little, making Sam blush.

"Can I use the bathroom or am I going to be traumatized by used condoms?" Cassie asks and points towards the ensuite. When both adults go pale, she shrugs and turns around. "Guest bath it is," she mumbles but she heads to the kitchen first, probably to get started with the coffee.

"We didn't use protection," Jack manages to choke out when he's sure the girl is out of earshot. He's been having sex for how many decades? How could he forget something like that?

"I'm on the pill. But there's an empty bottle of champagne lying somewhere under the sink and I'm pretty sure the mirror has some very interesting imprints on it."

Jack looks thoughtful for a moment when he tries to remember what exactly she's talking about but then his smile widens into a full grin.

Sam rolls her eyes. "Get dressed. We have damage control to do."

"It's Cassie," he argues but gets up and goes empty his bladder. Through the door he can hear Sam rummaging through the dresser, presumably searching for panties.

Once he steps out of the bathroom, Sam continues where the conversation was left: "If we don't threaten or bribe her, she's gonna yell the news from the rooftops and I would prefer to keep this private a little longer."

He knows what she means. It's not that he's worried about if this will last or not. He's not even waiting for it to turn serious because in his mind they've been serious from the beginning, from the moment she showed up at his apartment and said they have unfinished businesses. But it's still new and he would like to enjoy the relationship without the pressure of having to put a label on it and having people ask questions.

"Daniel," Jack groans out loud. He can already imagine the questions flying at machine gun rate. When, where, why, what happens next, when is the wedding... He's not ready for that. He's pretty sure neither one of them are. He tries to locate his clothes but remembers that he poured some champagne on the jeans and takes sweat pants from his suitcase instead.

"Exactly," Sam agrees.

"Coffee is ready!" Cassie calls from the kitchen. "Or did you get distracted with round two?"

"No, and it would be more like round seven anyway!" Sam calls back and then clasps a hand on her mouth, almost as shocked about her words as Jack is.

"You know, we probably have to take her to Disneyworld or something for that, Carter."

She groans and throws his T-shirt at him.

"And you're still wearing my shirt," he reminds her.

* * *

They're sitting at the table, Cassie on one side, Jack and Sam on the other, sipping their coffees. The girl keeps shifting her gaze back and forth between the two officers.

"So..." she starts and nibbles her toast.

"It's none of your business, Cassie," Sam says as gently as possible.

"Of course it is! I want you guys to be happy. And you look happy. And if this really is as new as you say it is, then I assume you don't have anyone to share that happiness with." Cassie bats her eyelashes a couple of times with an innocent smile on her lips.

"You're prying and trying to twist it around so that you're doing us a favor," Sam translates.

"Yep," the girl admits. "So? How did this happen?"

"Cassie," Sam sighs and turns to look at Jack.

"You really can't tell anyone about this yet, OK?" He could have made it an order but it's more of a plead.

"Why not?" Cassie asks with a frown.

"Because it's still new," Sam explains. "We'll tell the others when we're ready. There's still a lot we need to discuss and figure out before we feel confident enough to tell everyone."

"You're not... you know?"

The adults frown and glance at each other, hoping the other one knows what the girl means with that but no, they are both as clueless.

"You're not just fooling around, right? I mean... You're a couple, not just..."

"Yes, we're a couple," Sam says. But that's about all she knows for sure. She doesn't even know when she'll see Jack next once his meetings are over. Everything about the future is still open and she's surprisingly okay with that because the present is good enough for her. It's more than that, it's _great_.

"But we're really not ready for Daniel's interrogation," Jack says.

Cassie's expression changes into an almost conspiratorial one and she crosses her arms on her chest, once again reacting just like Jack could imagine Janet doing. That's the _If I don't get the truth, you're getting the big needles -_look that he's oh so familiar with. The girl is obviously trying to decide her price, calculate just how much she can profit from keeping their secret.

"You're not getting a pony," Jack says and the girl looks startled. "It wouldn't fit in your dorm room."

"Why would I want a pony?" the girl asks with a frown.

"It's an Earth thing," Sam says softly. "Most little girls want a pony at some point and use every possible chance to ask for one."

"Did you ever ask for a pony, Sam?" Jack asks.

"For my fifth birthday," she admits. "But that has nothing to do with the subject."

"Oh, right," Cassie sits up straighter, snapping back to the topic. "The fact that you two are having sex and need me to keep it a secret."

The adults heave a sigh and Sam thinks that it probably would have been better to keep talking about ponies and childhood birthdays after all.

"Name your price," Jack sighs, resigned.

"How about a Ferrari?"

"It's not that big a secret," Jack says. "I'd say it's more like bicycle-sized one."

"Tricycle, probably," Sam joins the conversation. "Because Daniel and Teal'c will probably realize as soon as we're all in the same room."

"Trip to the zoo this afternoon, all three of us, four movie tickets for me and my friends and the whole story," Cassie makes her counteroffer.

"That's quite a drop from a Ferrari," Jack comments with a raise of his eyebrows.

The girl shrugs. "Gotta start big so the real offer sounds more reasonable."

"Carter?" he turns to ask for her opinion.

"Sounds fair," she admits with a shrug.

"I have to warn you that it will only stop me from gossiping. Throw in that bicycle and I'll lie for you if anyone asks me if I know something."

"No need for lying," Sam says softly. "We just want a little more time."

"Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal."

"Great. So, the story?"

Cassie looks at Sam, then Jack and then Sam again, waiting for either one of them to start talking. In the end it's Jack who takes a deep breath and starts the explanation:

"Carter saved me from a very persistent woman in a bar, climbed in my bed when I was too hungover to notice, saved us from an international crises while wearing a sexy dress and very uncomfortable shoes, kissed me and then hid my things all over the apartment."

"That pretty much sums it up," Sam agrees with a thoughtful nod. "And then there were phone calls."

"Mostly about those things she hid all over my apartment. Though whiskey was mentioned as well."

"You know I have Daniel's number in speed dial, right?" Cassie threatens and the couple starts explaining things with more details, starting with the chaotic state of Jack's apartment in the beginning of Sam's visit, the phone call from the president and the incident with the shoes and bleeding feet.

Cassie is laughing and smiling through it all and Sam has to admit that maybe the girl was on to something when she suggested they would want to share their happiness with someone.

* * *

"Sam?" Jack whispers and kisses her forehead.

"Is this gonna be a problem?" she groans. She refuses to open her eyes and glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. She knows it's late, _too _late, and she was just about to fall asleep when his whisper dragged her back.

"What?"

Jack sounds like he has no idea what she's talking about.

"You, being cheerful and _awake_ after sex," she elaborates. Aren't men supposed to fall asleep right after? That's how most of her boyfriends have been. But Jack seems to get a surge of energy whereas she just wants to cuddle and _sleep_. Her body is humming pleasantly and her head is full of all kinds of scrambled happy thoughts that keep a little smile plastered on her lips. She doesn't want to break that mood with talking.

"Sorry."

Sam sighs, feeling bad about snapping at him. "What is it?" she asks because now she's curious. He wouldn't have disturbed her just to say goodnight.

"Why do days without you feel longer than days without Daniel? Is it about the whole relativity of time thing?"

Something in his voice makes Sam think that he's wondered about this before and probably for a long time.

"I'm pretty sure it's just your subjective experience," she replies but she can't help thinking that it's just about the sweetest thing he's ever said to her.

"I thought relativity of time was just that."

She chuckles and moves enough that she can kiss him on the lips. It's a bit clumsy because she insists on keeping her eyes closed but it'll do.

"I love you, too," she whispers and gets settled against his shoulder again.

"Not the explanation I was expecting though it _does_ make sense."

"I can give you the technobabble version in the morning." She tries to stifle a yawn but fails.

"Can you do it naked?"

"If you bring me coffee in bed," she mumbles and gets a gentle kiss on the forehead for that answer. He doesn't say anything and Sam lets herself drift towards sleep again.

"Sam?"

"Yes," she sighs.

"I really _do_ love you, you know?"

Maybe she should change her mind about talking after sex.

~The End~

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading!


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